‘You mean evacuation?’
‘Yes, I do, Mrs Hearnshaw, for the mental health of your children.’
Sandra could hardly argue with that, but Christmas was around the corner, and when the New Year was heralded in with another big raid on the 1
st
January, it straightened her resolve and she went to see about it. She left on Saturday, 14
th
January, and Lizzie and Violet went to New Street Station to see her off to some unknown, but presumably safer, destination.
Lizzie hadn’t wanted Violet to go with her, for she had a hacking cough. She’d had it since just after Christmas, and even Carol, home for a few days, had been worried about her, although Violet told everyone not to fuss.
The draughty platform was really not the place for her that raw winter’s day, but she was as stubborn as a mule. ‘I’m all right, Lizzie,’ she said impatiently when Lizzie glanced at her as a spasm of coughing shook her frame and caused her eyes to water. ‘Everyone knows a cough lingers after a cold. I’ll be as right as rain in a day or two.’
In a day or two, Violet was in bed, and there she was to stay, the doctor said firmly. The ‘persistent cough’ turned out to be quite a severe case of bronchitis and she would be away from work till he gave her the say-so to go back.
Lizzie laughed as she looked at Violet’s mutinous face as the doctor left. ‘No good looking like that,’ she said as she tucked the covers around her. ‘You’ve met your match and no mistake. Now, lie quiet for once in your life, and I’ll make you some beef tea as the doctor ordered.’
‘Doctor’s orders,’ Violet said scornfully. ‘Huh. What’s he know anyway?’
‘More than you in this instance,’ Lizzie retorted, but she knew Violet hated being idle and she was smiling as she closed the bedroom door.
It was a cold day, the sort of cold that caught in the back of a person’s throat and made teeth ache, and though Lizzie was glad the hooter had gone she wasn’t looking forward to the journey home, especially when one of the girls said, ‘I bet the trams won’t be running, there’s a proper pea-souper out there.’
‘As if the bleedin’ blackout ain’t enough to cope with,’ someone else said.
Lizzie couldn’t have agreed more, for the day was dark as pitch outside and it would be a miserable and lonely trek home if the trams weren’t running.
‘Ain’t you got a torch?’ someone asked as Lizzie set off into the gloom.
‘Aye, for all the good it is,’ Lizzie answered. ‘Gave out on me coming in this morning. I knew the batteries were going, but I couldn’t get any more, not for love nor money. I should have knocked at Violet’s and taken a loan of hers.’
‘Well, she’d hardly have need of it,’ the first girl said. ‘How is the old codger, anyroad?’
‘Ready to slaughter you if she heard you call her
that,’ Lizzie replied with a wry smile. ‘She’s getting better slowly. All set for coming back, but it depends on the doctor.’
‘Well, bronchitis can be treacherous. Turns to pneumonia in no time if it ain’t caught early and treated proper.’
‘I know that,’ Lizzie said. ‘But it’s getting on for four weeks now and she don’t honestly know what to do with herself. She’s snapping the head off Barry and for little or nothing, and even young Carol got it in the neck for something stupid when she came home on a few days’ leave last week. Believe me, everyone will breathe a sigh of relief when she is eventually signed off.’
The women laughed. ‘Oh that would be right,’ one said. ‘Couldn’t never bear to be idle, Violet.’ And then she added, ‘You all right going home with no torch? I could walk with you a bit of the way if you like.’
Lizzie would have valued company, but she knew the woman had worked a full day like herself and was probably just as tired and hungry and longing for her own fireside. She couldn’t ask her to walk with her and then come all the way back, so she said, ‘No, it’s all right. I’ll go steady.’
‘If you’re sure?’
‘I am, really.’
The woman called their goodnights to each other as they went their separate ways, and though Lizzie longed to hurry she knew she risked breaking a limb if she did that. The darkness was so intense she felt she could put out a hand and touch it, and though she
couldn’t see the fog she could feel the cloying dampness of it and smell the smoky stink of it in her nose and seeping into her mouth, despite the scarf wrapped around the lower part of her face.
There were no trams or buses and precious little else on the roads either. It was curiously quiet, the fog successfully muffling sound and the darkness hiding people and obstacles until they were suddenly before her in the gloom. She’d apologised to a tree and a pillar box before she’d gone very far. At least Jerry will give us a break tonight, she thought, and once I get home I’ll not have to leave it again till the morning and I’ll sleep the night through in my own bed.
That was something, for though the raids had eased a little and were no longer every night, as soon as people began to relax there would be another one, like the one just three nights before. Only on nights like this could a person be sure of a break.
Lizzie breathed a sigh of relief when she turned up Bristol Passage. She was bone-weary and starving hungry, but at least she felt more confident on her own territory. Even so, she nearly passed the entry and had to retrace her steps holding on to the wall.
Almost as soon as she’d stepped into the cobbled yard she cannoned into someone. ‘Sorry,’ she said, wondering why the person had no torch, but then maybe they had the same problem with buying batteries as she did. They were like gold dust to get hold of. ‘Can’t see a hand in front of your face, can you?’
There was no reply and she thought that odd. Everyone in the yard knew each other and there was no reason for anyone else to be down there. She opened
her mouth to say something else and then was filled with fright as the person clapped a hand across her mouth. It was a big hand, a man’s hand, and smelt faintly of oil. As well as being fearful, Lizzie was also surprised and angry. She began to writhe and struggle and stamp on where she imagined the man’s feet to be, trying to wrest herself from his iron grip and demand to know what the hell he was playing at.
But then she felt a pain in her side so acute she tried to cry out against it. It was agonising, like a red-hot poker was burning her insides out. She felt her head swim as she sank to her knees with a gasp of agony. The man had released his grip on her mouth, and yet she was incapable of calling for help, or anything else either. Waves of blackness threatened to overwhelm her, and then she felt her head held tight by those big, muscular hands and her forehead was slammed hard onto the cobblestones. She crumpled in an unconscious heap and the man lifted her coat up and lay down on top of her.
An hour or so later, Violet, muffled up, on her way to the lavvy, tripped over the unconscious figure on the ground. She grumbled slightly, thinking one of the children had left something there to trip up decent folk about their business, and she shone her shaded torch over the offending item.
When she saw who the unconscious figure was she felt as if her heart had stopped beating. In a moment she was on her knees beside Lizzie and feeling her neck. Her relief when she found the pulse was immense and she wondered if Lizzie had fallen over something in the yard, or tripped on the uneven cobbles. Christ, that
was easy enough to do in the bleedin’ blackout.
But she was suddenly aware of something soaking through her lisle stockings, and when she directed the torch there and saw she had knelt in a patch of blood that was still dribbling and seeping from Lizzie’s coat, she sat back on her haunches in shock. Dear, sweet Almighty Jesus, what had happened to Lizzie?
And then she was on her feet and crashing through the house, shouting for Barry to, ‘Come quick.’ Between them, they got Lizzie into the house and laid her on the settee. ‘You go for Doctor Taylor,’ Violet told the startled Barry, who stood staring at his injured neighbour with concern. ‘He should be at his surgery in Bristol Street and tell him to come as quick as he can.’
When Barry left, she looked with concern at the crimson stain spreading across Lizzie’s coat. She hesitated to take the coat off in case she would make whatever it was bleed more, but she stemmed the flow with linen pads she had in the sideboard.
She hoped to God that Barry stressed the urgency to the doctor. She looked up at the clock and then put the kettle on, knowing whatever ailed Lizzie, hot water wouldn’t come amiss.
It was as she filled the kettle that she remembered Lizzie had had no bag with her. It was likely still in the yard and she went out to look. She saw it almost immediately, but there was something else beside it too, and as she picked it up she saw it was Lizzie’s knickers. No need to share that with the entire yard, she thought, and as she’d not taken time to remove her coat she stuffed them in her pocket.
* * *
Doctor Taylor was well-known in the neighbourhood and had been a regular visitor at Violet’s house because of her bronchitis. When his receptionist said Barry Barlow was waiting, he thought Violet had taken a turn for the worse, for she wasn’t out of the woods yet by any means, whatever she said.
But it wasn’t Violet that Barry had come to see him about, but their neighbour. Barry could tell him little. ‘The missus found her in the yard, on her way to the lavvy,’ he said. ‘Nearly went flying over her by all accounts. Anyroad, she’s bleeding from somewhere. It’s all over her coat and that. We didn’t hang about, like. Violet said to fetch the doctor quick, like, so I don’t know no more.’
The doctor knew by Barry’s agitated manner that the matter was a serious one, so the two were soon hurrying back as fast as the blackout would allow.
Barry was very fond of Lizzie and hoped to God she was going to be all right, but he wasn’t to find out straight away, for when the doctor saw the young woman and said he had to remove at least the top half of Lizzie’s clothes before he could examine her, Violet despatched Barry to the pub. ‘I’ll send for you if you’re needed,’ she said. ‘It’s not right you should stay when we’re stripping Lizzie.’
‘Are you sure you’re up for it?’ Doctor Taylor said, for he’d seen the two spots of colour on Violet’s cheeks and heard her laboured breathing.
Violet made an impatient movement with her head. ‘I’m grand, Doctor.’
The doctor knew she wasn’t grand, but he hadn’t time to go into it. The young woman needed attention
and fast; the pads were saturated with blood and he had to find out why. He washed his hands quickly, glad that Violet had had the foresight to have water boiling, before extracting a large pair of scissors from his bag. ‘I’m going to have to cut some of the clothes from her,’ he told Violet. ‘I want to disturb her as little as possible, at least until I’ve located the source of the bleeding.’
Violet nodded and she unbuttoned the coat. When it lay open she heard the doctor give a whistle at the blood pumping from somewhere, soaking the side of Lizzie’s jumper. Without further ado, the doctor, anxious now, sliced up the jumper and vest from hem to neck with his scissors, and Violet saw the gaping hole in Lizzie’s side. ‘God Almighty!’ she cried in shock. ‘What’s happened to her, Doctor?’
‘She’s been stabbed, Mrs Barlow.’
‘Stabbed! Surely not?’
‘I’ve seen enough stab wounds to know,’ the doctor said grimly. ‘Could I have some of that water in the basin? I need to get this cleaned up before I stitch it.’
‘But…but…Doctor, who would stab Lizzie?’ a shocked Violet asked.
‘That’s a question she might be able to answer,’ the doctor said. ‘But she can thank God for that thick coat. Whoever did this meant business and that coat probably saved her life, but still, she’s lost a fair bit of blood already.’
The doctor cleaned the wound carefully with cotton wool and Violet stood ready with a clean bowl for him to drop the soiled pieces into. She saw plainly, once the wound was washed clear of blood, where the knife had sliced through the skin.
She felt rather sick suddenly, and the doctor, noting the slight movement she made, glanced up. ‘All right?’
Violet chided herself. This was no time to think of her own sensibilities. ‘I’m fine, Doctor,’ she said.
‘Good woman,’ the doctor replied, admiring Violet’s pluck. ‘Now, if you get rid of that cotton wool and stand at her shoulders. It is Mrs Gillespie, isn’t it?’
‘Aye, Doctor, Lizzie Gillespie.’
‘Well, stand there and hold on to her shoulders, but gently. I’m going to stitch the wound now and it might rouse her. It’s important that she lies still, so if she starts to move you hold her tight. Okay?’
Violet smiled a little, feeling it strange hearing ‘okay’, that Americanism, from the doctor’s lips. But she answered in kind. ‘Okay, Doctor.’
There wasn’t much to smile at after that, because gentle though the doctor undoubtedly was, Lizzie did come round and began to thrash and try and dislodge Violet’s hands holding her down, turning from side to side. At one point her back arched and the doctor swore. And then Lizzie’s arms began to flap about madly and Violet pleaded, ‘Lie still, Lizzie. Please, lie still. It’s me, Violet, and I’d not hurt you for the world, you know that.’
Lizzie became quieter and the doctor nodded approvingly. ‘Go on.’
Violet went on. She told Lizzie about finding her in the yard and the shock it had given her and about sending for the doctor, and all the time Violet talked, Lizzie lay still and listened.
Later, she was to tell Violet she lay in a sort of semiconscious state and, with Violet inadvertently helping
her, tried to piece together what happened after she left the factory. But from when she’d bumped into the large black shape she could remember nothing.
The doctor finished and snapped off the thread. ‘Now,’ he cautioned Violet to hold steady. ‘I must dab the wound all over with iodine and it will sting. But it will also stop infection.’
However, Lizzie made no movement, though her face grimaced in pain and her eyes flickered open. ‘Hallo, Mrs Gillespie,’ the doctor said, and because he saw that her glazed eyes looked frightened, he went on, ‘You’ve had a bit of an accident.’
‘Accident,’ Lizzie repeated.
‘That’s right,’ the doctor said. ‘And your good friend Violet sent for me.’
‘Violet?’
‘Aye, cock, I’m here,’ Violet said, and because she was so agitated and worried she went on, ‘Some bugger stabbed you. Who was it?’
Lizzie couldn’t comprehend it. ‘Stabbed?’, and she looked at Violet aghast. ‘Stabbed!’
‘Yeah, stabbed. Done for you an’ all, the doctor said, if it hadn’t been for your coat.’
The doctor, seeing Lizzie’s mind trying to come to terms with all this, motioned to Violet to be quiet and spoke to Lizzie. ‘I will put a dressing over the wound for tonight,’ he said, ‘in case it should weep, and I’ll come back tomorrow to attend to it.
‘Now,’ he went on, ‘I noticed the bump and slight graze on the back of your head, but are you injured anywhere else?’
Lizzie hesitated. Since she’d come to, she’d been
aware of stickiness between her legs and the fact she had no knickers on, but she didn’t want to mention that yet, and so she said, ‘No, Doctor, I don’t think so.’
But Doctor Taylor had seen the pause and he said, ‘Are you sure, Mrs Gillespie? There’s nowhere else you were hurt?’
And Lizzie held his eyes. ‘No, Doctor.’
She was extra glad she’d said this when the doctor went on, ‘You realise I’ll have to inform the police?’
Even Violet jumped at that. She’d never had police at her door and didn’t want them now, and nor did Lizzie. ‘Is it necessary?’
‘I think so,’ the doctor said. ‘We can’t have a madman with a knife taking advantage of the blackout to hurt, maim and kill people.’
‘But all I can remember is a huge black shape that I collided with,’ Lizzie protested. ‘After that it’s a blank till I woke up here.’